


Soft

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9464858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Being soft is new.





	

Her hologuides were furtive stories and illicit movies that showed her love in the abstract. She watched the way the couple would court (often through angry yelling, or jealousy without reason), and she thought it strange, but ‘normal’. 

The tales didn’t work very well for her. In reality, there was no charming man to save her from a villain. There was no _villain_ to be saved _from_ , and she was always confused why the woman didn’t just outright save herself. If anyone crossed her, Phasma always made sure they didn’t do it a second time.

End of.

But she’d tried to understand these guides, she truly had. She’d confiscated things from lower ranks, and flicked through them, just to see the appeal. Lowly farmgirl kidnapped by rakish space pirates. Lowly (even worse) Republic office-worker, falling for her superior officer. Spankings over desks. Sometimes it was the man spanking, sometimes it was the woman. Occasionally it was two men or two women in the relationship, and she was left even more confused after those as to who she was supposed to identify with. They didn’t really set much tingling, and her solo efforts were frustratingly empty of real fantasy, just brute force between her legs.

When her fantasies started involving a vocodered voice and broad shoulders and black swirls of fabric… she’d hurt herself even more. Her orgasms were to be scrubbed out of her, her most sensitive places chafed and rubbed until the throbbing need subsided.

And when he’d gotten too into her face one day, one thing had led to another.

Apparently you _did_ fight as foreplay. Or… well, you couldn’t call it fighting. But the prising open of layers to roughly thrust at her entrance until his cock got inside had felt much like her own explorations, but better.

He’d bitten her neck, and she’d pulled his hair. Tables destroyed, beds screwed into creaking. Years of sublimated lust turned out in one go, and they banged and bucked their way through every closed room they could over the space of several weeks. Which had been _glorious_. She’d been aching in all the right ways (sore thighs, tender nipples, scratch-and-bite-marks), and she knew he’d been carrying her own responses, and every time it stung or throbbed, she’d been happily reminded of it all, and felt the stirrings of her arousal peaking again.

But then… then he’d gone and woken up early, one morning. His arm over her waist, his knees behind hers. Soft kisses to her throat to wake her, but that never turned to growled, possessive bites. Not knowing if - or when - it would ramp up had made her even more excited, and she’d pushed his hand down to her sex. His fingers had stroked her slowly, and she’d forced herself not to beg for him to take it harder.

One leg pulled up, and he’d slipped into her from behind. The angle kept it slower, but he still pushed in deep. Fingers all around her lips, and she’d been sure she wouldn’t manage to reach orgasm without the stinging, but his steady rocking and gliding made her thighs tremble, and she’d turned her head and begged for kisses instead.

He’d come first, which had been a surprise. Even though he was rough, he was attentive. Many a time she’d come with his fingers jammed inside, or on his tongue, his nose, his lips, his cock… but he’d usually tried to keep her responses alongside his. This time, he gushed inside of her, and she’d worried. Was she broken? Could she only come with pain? Did she need him to grind her to get her there? 

Before she could wonder, his fingers had taken to touching her again. His cock stayed inside of her, no longer thrusting, but his fingers slipped and stroked between her legs. His lips kissed at her throat, and she enjoyed letting him touch her. He didn’t seem bothered that his own end had come, just keen to give her as much pleasure, she supposed. 

After a moment, she relaxed into the touches. His lips made soft work of her throat (weirdly hot) and his hand kept moving up to stroke her belly, thighs, hips, and breasts. He’d been researching, it seemed, because he kept taking her close to the edge and then moving his attentions elsewhere. She couldn’t stand how good it felt, and she grabbed his hand and pushed it back between her legs.

“ _Please_.”  


He consented, and focused his efforts more keenly in that dark space.

The final release, when it hit, spread out and made her thighs tense, and she reached back to tangle her hand in his hair and gust out her appreciation, too rocked to even kiss him. 

It had been - in the truest sense - a revelation. She’d felt closer, and happier, and cuddlier than she could ever remember. His fingers wound with hers (sticky with her juices, but she didn’t mind that), and his hopeful smile so open and light that she wondered why they’d never done it like that before.

“So… I can… try like that again?” her Knight asked.  


“Mmm. Just so long as we can still break the tables on other nights.”  


“I’d be disappointed if we couldn’t.”  


She liked both sides of him, after all, and apparently he did, too.


End file.
